


We could be heroes

by UlsPi



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett, Maurice (1987), Maurice - E. M. Forster
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bad Poetry, Erotic Poetry, F/F, First Time, First Time Blow Jobs, Good Sex, Internalized Homophobia, Love Confessions, M/M, Protective Crowley (Good Omens), Soft Aziraphale (Good Omens), Soft Crowley (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-01
Updated: 2020-03-05
Packaged: 2021-02-26 14:00:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22974655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UlsPi/pseuds/UlsPi
Summary: Aziraphale walked closer and saw the gardener, Crowley, he remembered, hugged by two servant girls who were feeding him grapes.Crowley laughed into their fingers and the grapes popped in his teeth. The girls laughed and laughed and laughed. The gardener looked up. His eyes were uncovered, and they were the eyes of a snake, bilateral coloboma making his pupils thinner and longer, so fitting for Crowley. He winked at Aziraphale and accepted another grape. Aziraphale walked away immediately.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Beelzebub/Dagon (Good Omens)
Comments: 48
Kudos: 134





	1. Who's riding so fast through night and wind

**Author's Note:**

> Betaed by summerofspock and I was again stubborn about certain points so all bad parts are mine and proudly so.

Aziraphale had never belonged. He was a stranger at home and while his siblings gushed about attractive youngsters of any gender but their own, Aziraphale had always preferred his own. He didn't think of it in those terms, yet it happened that Jeremy, Alfred, Arthur, Johnsy and Evelyn were all boys. Aziraphale, being smart,  _ much smarter than his age would imply _ , wouldn't dream of discussing such topics with his family. There was something so sweet, so tender in the friendships he had formed with Jeremy, Alfred, Arthur, Johnsy and Evelyn (in consequence; they would all be taken away from him all too early) that Aziraphale wanted to keep to himself. Jeremy, Alfred, Arthur, Johnsy and Evelyn were not as smart or as careful as Aziraphale, and he would learn later that their parents were afraid of their boys spoiling the progeny of the noble family. 

Aziraphale went to Oxford, the clever boy he was. He studied Classics and Law. He was everybody's favourite, just as his mother had predicted. It didn't take much to predict it, though. Aziraphale was unwaveringly kind and gentle. He would listen carefully, he would console calmly, he would never pretend to claim any space in his friends' lives, having learned that his closest friends would inevitably be taken away from him. 

Nobody would ever take Gabriel away from him, though. Gabriel was handsome, confident, brilliant and somehow he wanted to spend his time with Aziraphale and nobody else. Gabriel promised Aziraphale they'd always remain friends. He claimed their friendship was the Platonic ideal of a bond between two intelligent minds. If Aziraphale wanted to hold him or kiss him or touch his hair when he dozed off during a lecture on Euripides, then, according to Gabriel, he had spent too much time with the earthly companions to fully grasp the pleasures of having no earthly pleasures. And if Gabriel rested his head on Aziraphale's shoulder or used his perfect face to make Aziraphale share his accurate notes with Gabriel, then it was all Aziraphale's fault. 

Aziraphale accepted it. He did. After all, his family, however respectable and rich they were, were but lawyers, while Gabriel was an aristocrat, which implied that Aziraphale had to go on studying the Law and Gabriel had to marry a girl his parents chose for him. Gabriel, of course, told Aziraphale that he had no intention of following his family's wishes.

Gabriel followed their wishes.

Sitting at his desk in the family law firm Aziraphale remembered all those sweet moments when Gabriel rested his head on Aziraphale's shoulder and told him, in ancient Greek, that they would always be together, those moments of almost kisses, those reluctant vows of  _ our passion is platonic, nothing can ever separate our souls _ , while Aziraphale thought that there was no distinction between bodies and souls. 

Aziraphale remembered how he tugged at Gabriel's sweater and tried to catch a ghost of kiss while Gabriel waxed poetic about the union of their souls.

Gabriel married the girl that had been chosen for him. She was a fiercely smart woman who wanted nothing to do with Gabriel which Aziraphale noticed at the wedding and Gabriel had trouble noticing after two years of marriage. 

As for Aziraphale, he proved to be invaluable for his family, because his knowledge of the law was formidable. It really had to be a miracle that they had managed to win any cases or build a reputation before Aziraphale, who apparently required no effort to find a precedent. 

Aziraphale's days were empty for him and full for his family. He dreamed of Gabriel's cheekbones and cited obscure laws; he went to see a psychiatrist who told him after a few sessions that Aziraphale could never be happy in England because England could never be happy with his penchant for Gabriel's cheekbones.

And so it went on, until one day Gabriel invited him to stay at his wife's estate and Aziraphale saw no reason to decline the invitation since his family could see nothing but glorious opportunities about Aziraphale visiting an aristocrat. 

Gabriel had no time for Aziraphale which didn't surprise him at all. Aziraphale spent much more time with Beatrice, Gabriel's wife who liked Aziraphale much more than she did her husband. Theirs was indeed a Platonic bond, although contrary to Plato and obvious to them, what united them was bitterness which Aziraphale denied and Beatrice accepted as a badge of honour.

They sat in the garden with their tea when a lanky red-haired man passed by. He was wearing sunglasses and he smiled wickedly at one of the maids who blushed before rushing back into the house.

What was it? The way he walked? The way he grinned? The way he was unashamed of his beauty, of his body? Aziraphale found it difficult to breathe or speak or even think clearly.

"That is our gardener, Crowley. I could arrange for him to visit you tonight. He's… flexible." Beatrice smiled far too knowingly.

"My dear? What the heavens do you mean?"

"Aziraphale, you're better than this. He's very tempting, and he sees no shame in pleasure, unlike your noble friend."

"Beatrice…"

"What, Aziraphale?"

She looked at him, tired and angry and understanding. Aziraphale turned away to escape her eyes.

"What do you think of our housekeeper, Ms. Dagon?" asked Beatrice.

"Ehm… she is…"

"Unnoticeable, isn't she? She could always remain invisible, while I never could avoid being seen. She rejected her birth and her privilege and became my housekeeper so that we can be together," Beatrice told him softly.

"My dear, what…"

"You know very well what! We fuck, me and my darling Dagon. We've been lovers and my parents wanted to make sure no one would ever find out, mostly out of fear. So I married your friend who hasn't been to my chambers and will never visit me there, and Dagon… she's an orphan. She can do whatever she chooses, and she chose to stay with me."

"I… I really don't… I…"

"Should I send Crowley to your room tonight?" Beatrice insisted.

"I want to be loved," replied Aziraphale after a few minutes of silence. "I don't want to be…"

"Fucked."

"Yes."

"Love can come as a consequence of good fucking, Aziraphale."

"Beatrice, I'm not… like that."

"You're very much like that. You are. You're refusing yourself your share of pleasure to appease your family, your circle, your stupid Gabriel. He'll never love you."

"He does love me."

"You know, he told me about you. After we got married... I felt sorry for you even then, before I got to know you, and once I did… Aziraphale, you deserve happiness. Love. Thorough fucking. Let me send the good gardener to your bed tonight. He wouldn't mind. He's adventurous."

"No, Beatrice. I'm really grateful for your understanding but… I can't. I want love. I want to… to be wanted."

"Then you were born in the wrong place at the wrong time." Beatrice sipped at her tea. 

Ms Dagon came to inquire about the dinner arrangements and Aziraphale felt like a fool. Their affection, their connection was nothing but obvious, and he only recognised it as such after Beatrice bravely told him about it.

Gabriel came by with an illustrious acquaintance of his and remarked outloud that Aziraphale had grown soft. 

Beatrice replied to him so rudely that Gabriel couldn't remain by her side, yet his acquaintance laughed and sat next to Beatrice. Aziraphale looked at Gabriel and walked away. 

He kept waking until the comfortable silence was interrupted by the naughtiest laughter. He looked around and saw a greenhouse. 

Aziraphale walked closer and saw the gardener, Crowley, he remembered, hugged by two servant girls who were feeding him grapes. 

Crowley laughed into their fingers and the grapes popped in his teeth. The girls laughed and laughed and laughed. The gardener looked up. His eyes were uncovered, and they were the eyes of a snake, bilateral coloboma making his pupils thinner and longer, so fitting for Crowley. He winked at Aziraphale and accepted another grape. Aziraphale walked away immediately.

***

Those thoughts, those disruptive, incessant, obsessive thoughts came to Aziraphale mostly at night when he was restless, when the world no longer provided him with noises, with work, with the necessity to be something else. 

He knew that Beatrice's bedroom was right above his and yet he forgot about it as he sat on his windowsill and prayed for the night breeze to ease the burning of his skin, to chase away the images of Gabriel almost kissing him, of ripe grapes popping in Crowley's teeth…

"There you are, my love, my wife." Aziraphale trembled hearing Beatrice's voice devoid of its usual dismissive politeness.

"Here I am, darling. How was your day?" replied Ms Dagon. There was a kiss. There had to be a kiss. 

"Such a lovely night, wife… I'm so sorry for Aziraphale, you know?"

"Poor bugger indeed. Do we have to talk about him now?"

"We are happy, Dagon, we are together, and he's in love with Gabriel."

"Oh my."

"I suggested sending Crowley into his room tonight…"

"Beatrice, love, Crowley isn't a toy."

"Yes, but he's flexible."

"He still is a human, like us. He enjoys… love."

"That's why…"

"Oh darling, Beatrice, my wife, you have no idea, do you? No idea whatsoever about the life downstairs."

"I'm afraid I don't. I want Aziraphale to be happy though."

"But who told you he needs a quick shag and nothing else?"

"A quick shag is better than nothing."

"Beatrice, come to bed with me, alright? I'm not ready to be sorting out someone else's life."

Aziraphale returned to his bed and tried to breathe deeply.

The night was heavy and quiet. Operas had been written about such nights, their promise, their potential, their soundless serenades that predated petty human squabbles about love and lust. Such nights had always been true. Such nights smelled like a flood of roses and lilac, lilies and rosemary. Such nights were there to let go and give in, and Aziraphale hated himself for being unable to do so. The wind wailed, moaned and whispered, a happy teasing lover, a faithful spouse. What Aziraphale's heart desired was so basic, so primary and yet he couldn't have it. 

_ Let us read The Symposium one more time,  _ whispered Gabriel's voice, but Aziraphale had just discovered he hated Plato, or more accurately, hated what hundreds of years had done to Plato. Was Gabriel blind? Was Gabriel deaf? Was he plainly stupid? Was Aziraphale stupid for having failed to see it with the same clarity Beatrice had? What was wrong? What was right?

Aziraphale was wet with sweat and tossed the blankets aside. He got rid of his pyjamas after a while too.

"Now, that's a view for the sore eyes," said a calm voice from the window. 

Aziraphale sat up and saw Crowley, the forest god, the Erlkönig, crowned by the adoring moon and covered in jewels by the generous starlight. 

"Wh… What are you doing here?" Aziraphale asked, indignant and insincere.

"You were calling for me, weren't you?" Crowley asked. His face was invisible against the pale light. 

Suddenly the night erupted into a crushing crescendo, as the birds' chirping flooded Aziraphale's ears. How come every creature was wiser than him?

"I wasn't. I don't even know your name."

"Well, it's Anthony, and you're Aziraphale Fell. Gabriel's friend from his days in Oxford. Bet he was a wanker even then." Crowley settled comfortably on the windowsill and lit a cigarette. 

"I… I want one too," said Aziraphale and bit his lip.

"Take one, then," Crowley held his hand out. Aziraphale could have had his own cigarette, could have stayed in bed, could have avoided the shameless gaze of the moon, but… but why did he have to after all?

So he stood up, and let the moonlight caress him, walked up to the thin, graceful man on his window and took a cigarette from his fingers. 

Crowley, judging by the movement of his head, gave him a once over and hummed in approval.

"Fucking gorgeous, that's what you are, Aziraphale. It's such a pity nobody but the moon is touching you." Crowley lit another cigarette as Aziraphale returned to his bed and sat there, suddenly unashamed of his naked body.

"Gorgeous? Me? How come?" he spat out bitterly.

"Let me count the ways…" Crowley replied. "You are beautiful. Your shoulders are round, built for embraces, especially passionate ones, when your lover doesn't really remember themselves and holds on to you to the point of pushing crescent moons into your skin. Your chest is broad and soft, and personally I  _ love  _ chest hair of which you have plenty. Your arms are strong despite the softness of your hands… you yourself must be an incomparable lover. Let's see…" Crowley jumped off the windowsill and sauntered towards Aziraphale. 

The gardener knelt between Aziraphale's thighs, his eyes now aglow with the moonlight and mischief.

"Lovely belly… made for snuggling on after love. Beautiful thighs… oh, I'd sell my soul to spend a few weeks between these.," Hhis hands traced up Aziraphale's legs as Aziraphale tried to remain calm. "Such…a tempting cock.," Crowley's breath ghosted over the sensitive skin, a slip of his tongue touched the swollen head and his lips sucked at the slit for a brief, oh, far too brief moment. "Delicious too. Aren't you an angel, sir? So fair, so bright, so soft, so… absolutely fucking gorgeous.," Crowley caught Aziraphale's lips with his own. He tasted of tobacco and cheap wine, strong tea, stew, grapes and roses and operatic nights. 

"Oh you, fucking miracle… so beautiful, so handsome, so strong," whispered Crowley against Aziraphale's neck, caressing his arms with calloused hands. "How about you lie down? Can't really worship your cock like that… although I should, shouldn't I? On my knees…" Crowley's mouth was on Aziraphale's cock the next moment.

_ They were so young and Sebastian was a bit older. He killed himself after Wilde's trials. Gabriel kept scorning him, telling Aziraphale he was as lascivious as the disgraced poet himself, could never grasp the purity of male friendship.  _

"What is it you're thinking of while I'm sucking your cock?" Crowley inquired, cupping Aziraphale's face. "Am I that bad?"

"You're very bad indeed," whispered Aziraphale tenderly. He carded his fingers through Crowley's hair, and the man  _ purred,  _ leaning into the touch. "I've been thinking of Mr. Wilde's trials… Sorry, you…"

"He didn't deserve it," said Crowley planting wet and gentle kisses on Aziraphale's belly, stroking his sides and his back. "He really didn't… but I won't betray you, angel. Never," he added fiercely and kissed Aziraphale on the lips, sliding his tongue into Aziraphale's mouth.

"You're beautiful," he gently kissed Aziraphale's neck and then, far less gently, Aziraphale's collarbone, sucking, leaving a mark and placing a kiss there. "Nobody sees you, angel… I'm smarter than the rest… I saw you…" Crowley sucked on Aziraphale's nipple, moved over to the other one, paying it way too much attention for Aziraphale to stay silent as Crowley kissed down his body. "I saw you, angel. Angry and gentle, both at the same time, and thought…I should have you."

He stood up, pulled his jacket off and his shirt over his head, shimmied out of his trousers and pants and boots and stood in front of Aziraphale, his skin golden, his cock proudly erect. 

"Oh my darling boy…" Aziraphale pulled Crowley closer by his hips. "My indulgent, indulging darling…" He held Crowley, wrapping his arms around the gardener's hips and kissing his navel and down the thin trail of auburn hair until he could himself taste Crowley's cock. "Scrumptious…"

"Scrumptious? Is it even a word, angel? But I admit, I had a wash. Wouldn't want you to taste my lowly liquids…"

"I'd love to taste them," Aziraphale looked up at his lover, eyes heavy as the night with lust and yearning. 

"Oh, angel… so unloved, so lonely," Crowley lifted Aziraphale's face up to him and kissed his lips tenderly. 

"And you're straight out of my dreams… Lady Beatrice sent you, didn't she?"

"Who? What? Ms Dagon's lover? Fuck, she needs to spend more time downstairs. Nobody sent me, angel. I heard your call. Heard your yearning…you're amazing. I’ve wasted the days of your stay gazing at you and fucking my fist thinking of you. It's just unfair if I don't share this pleasure with you, isn't it?"

Aziraphale couldn't breathe. He pulled Crowley closer until he collapsed on and over Aziraphale as he kissed Crowley's sharp shoulders, touching his cock. He was delirious with lust, with pleasure, with how right, how impossibly right it felt to be here with Crowley who was closer than Gabriel had ever been.

"How do you want it, angel? Want me to fuck you? Want to fuck me? Want me to fuck your thighs? Want to fuck my sorry excuse for thighs?" Crowley asked, kissing and kissing and kissing every inch of Aziraphale's skin as long as it allowed him to never let go of Aziraphale's shoulders, to keep caressing and scratching Aziraphale's back. "Want me to eat you out? I'll eat you out if you let me… Such a gorgeous, gorgeous, gorgeous arse." Crowley grabbed handfuls of Aziraphale's backside and moaned into Aziraphale's lips. 

"My dear boy… so well versed in pleasures."

"I read, angel." Crowley propped himself up on his elbows. "I read a lot. Petronius," he kissed Aziraphale's neck. "Your good friend Wilde." Another kiss, on Aziraphale's ear. "Whoever it was who wrote  _ Teleny _ ." Yet another kiss, on Aziraphale's cheek. "And much, much more… I brought oil, angel. Tell me what you want."

"Want to fuck you, darling boy. Want to suck you dry when I'm finished with you…" Aziraphale swallowed around the lump of grief in his throat.

"Do it then, angel. Fucking do it." Crowley kissed his way down Aziraphale's body, then slid off the bed to fetch a small bottle from the pocket of his jacket. 

"Fuck, you're beautiful… I can't understand how I found you all alone here…" Crowley straddled Aziraphale. "You were born to be pleasured, angel… how come nobody sees it, huh? Want to open me yourself or should I do it? Don't be shy, angel. I'll let you fuck me with your soft fingers, just say the word…"

Before Crowley could finish, Aziraphale held him tight and pushed him into the bed. "Shut up, you impossible, ineffable darling, shut up…" Aziraphale pinned Crowley's wrists into the pillow and kissed his neck, his shoulders and collarbones, his armpits, his taut belly. "I read too, dear boy. I read a lot…" Aziraphale snatched the oil from Crowley's hand and took his cook into his mouth. 

He touched the gardener's tight hole, massaged it, slowly pushed one oil slick finger inside all the while pleasuring him with his mouth.

"You naughty angel," whispered Crowley running his fingers through Aziraphale's hair. "You… with your dandelion hair, with your blue eyes, so handsome, so fucking… aah, yes, right there, angel…"

Aziraphale hummed and brushed his finger against Crowley's prostate.

"You… you fucking bastard. I adore you… I absolutely adore you…" Crowley bit on his own wrist to avoid screaming as Aziraphale worked him open and fingered him until Crowley couldn't remember his own name and just whispered, begged for his angel to  _ fuck him already, fuck him hard, fuck him silly. _

Aziraphale couldn't get enough of Crowley's cock, so  _ poor boy _ came and then Aziraphale was straddled again, Crowley sitting down on him, impaling himself on Aziraphale's cock.

"You… you bastard. You promised me to suck me dry after… oh fuck, fuck, fuck, so good, angel, oh shit, I want your cock in me forever. Come, angel, fuck me, fuck me sore, fuck me so that I can't walk tomorrow… ahhh, angel, fuck…"

Crowley rode him, caressed his shoulders, his arms, touched his hips, as Aziraphale reverently wrapped his hand around Crowley's cock. 

"Yes, angel… like that… oh I waited for you, Aziraphale, my whole fucking useless life I waited for you…"

"Come again, Anthony, please, my dear boy, my sweet darling, come again, come with me…"

"I can't, angel. You… you sucked me so well…"

Crowley bent backwards, rested his hands on Aziraphale's thighs, smiled so joyously, so happily. 

"I love you, my darling, I fucking love you so much… Come for me, come for me, again…"

Crowley shook his head, frowned, winced and suddenly came all over Aziraphale's hand. "Yes, yes, darling, yes, like that. You're so good… you're made for me…" Aziraphale wailed and came inside Crowley. 

The gardener held him carefully and strongly. 

"Angel… oh angel… I'll never… oh angel… angel…"

"Was it good, darling? Was I good for you?" 

"Silly angel… silly angel…" Crowley laughed into Aziraphale's shoulder. "I will spend the rest of my life dreaming of you, you bloody idiot."

Aziraphale shifted to let Crowley slide away from him, but the man pushed down on Aziraphale's softening cock. 

"Stay where you fucking are. Stay. Tonight… tonight I have you, angel. Return to being a prim gentleman in the morning… for now… for now you're mine."

"Yours… you wonder, you dream, yours…" Aziraphale wrapped his arms around Crowley peppering his temple and cheek with kisses. "Do you have any idea… you… you made me."


	2. In your field, my seed of harvestry will thrive

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A lot of smut. Plus, my translation of a poem by Nikolai Gumilev, karma porn, Oscar Wilde, silly poems for the morning after, class clashes and have I mentioned smut?

Gabriel liked Aziraphale yearning, uncertain, with dull eyes, always ready to rush to Gabriel's side. He was proud of having built such a bond, to be the object of such fierce loyalty and pure, untarnished love. Gabriel had also made sure that none of his own  _ tarnished  _ thoughts and feverish dreams of Aziraphale's soft hands and round shoulders would ever crawl into their highly intellectual conversations. He did not think it cruel to be the cause of yearning, to tease Aziraphale with fleeting touches. To him those touches were the echoes of his sinful, inappropriate thoughts, the kind of thoughts he had to have about women, about his wife in particular. Gabriel would never admit how grateful he was when Beatrice decidedly refused to ever let Gabriel into her bed. Theirs was mutual disgust and it turned out to be quite a solid basis for a marriage that appeared perfect in every way and  _ was _ somewhat perfect considering the purposes of both spouses. Of course Gabriel had no idea of his wife's purposes or desires, but he was sure she had none other than the unknowable things women occupied themselves with. Many of his (her) friends told Gabriel over and over how much they admired Beatrice's intelligence which Gabriel couldn't understand since in his opinion intelligence was a man's biological trait. They politely agreed with Gabriel and insisted on continuing their praise. 

As for Aziraphale, Gabriel was shocked and appalled by the way his old friend looked in the morning. His eyes were bright, his smile was so gentle and tender, his light clothes suited him so well, his beautiful hands were hidden in his pockets instead of wringing in front of him. Furthermore Aziraphale came down late and with a marigold in his buttonhole. 

"Good morning," he greeted, his face beaming, his voice a bit hoarse, with a hint of pleasant exhaustion to it.

"Morning, Aziraphale. You look so thoroughly… good." Beatrice raised an eyebrow and smiled. Aziraphale blushed and the tint became him. His smile didn't leave his lips, as Gabriel expected, as always happened when he was being teased and Beatrice did tease him. 

"I feel so thoroughly good, too, Beatrice. You're positively radiant yourself. Oh, pardon, Gabriel… Didn't notice you behind your newspaper. How are you, my dear?"

Beatrice made an admirable effort to snort in a lady-like manner. She failed and was glad of it. Besides Aziraphale seemed to have failed to notice Gabriel genuinely. Aziraphale couldn't harm a fly or a man so full of himself with so little reason that he'd make a good fly.

Gabriel watched Aziraphale make his tea and put a generous portion of fruit and cream on his plate.

"You must really cut down on fatty foods, old chap," said Gabriel with annoying worry.

Aziraphale silently ate his first spoonful and quietly moaned. 

Beatrice had always liked him, but as of the moment, she adored him.

"Delicious…" said Aziraphale. "I doubt I will ever cut down on something so sinfully pleasant." Aziraphale took a sip of his tea.

"Sins of the flesh… you have always been too indulgent…" Gabriel had to swallow the rest of the sentence because Aziraphale moaned again.

"You're still up to our usual morning stroll, aren't you?" Asked Beatrice. 

There had been no usual morning strolls to talk of but Aziraphale agreed most wholeheartedly.

"Such a pity," croaked Gabriel. "I hoped we could retire to the library and have one of our stimulating conversations."

"I suppose a walk is a far more stimulating exercise," replied Aziraphale without a shred of shame or regret. He looked Gabriel in the eye and put another spoonful of cream into his mouth. For the first time in his life Gabriel felt not only unimportant but also quite inexistent.

"Would you like some more cream, Aziraphale? Our gardener, Crowley, makes it so well…" Beatrice smiled bashfully (as it seemed to Gabriel). 

"Oh definitely, my dear. I want some more." Aziraphale handed her his plate. 

***

Beatrice and Aziraphale walked into the garden like the most shameless pair of lovers one could ever witness. Once out of Gabriel's sight, they stopped and laughed together.

"I didn't send him, just so you know," said Beatrice with a guilty smile. 

"I know. He told me. And I believed him," Aziraphale added wistfully. "I do hope you didn't hear… everything."

"I heard something. I'm so happy for you!"

"I'm happy too."

"It suits you. Happiness. You were made for it."

"Aren't we all?"

"No, Gabriel was made to be a grumpy bore!"

Aziraphale, to his surprise, laughed at that too. He offered Beatrice his arm which she accepted, and they continued walking. 

After a few minutes of joyous talk about their lovers Aziraphale said:

"I feel so naughty and mischievous and… free. Liberated."

"You should be. I'm proud of you. I'm proud of Crowley… he has the mind of a scientist."

"And the cock of the devil," replied Aziraphale and blushed.

"Good! Keep talking like that! I'm so glad to have you as my friend."

"And yours only, my lady," Aziraphale kissed her hand. 

Their walk was interrupted by someone hissing threats at the roses.

"If you know what'sssss good for you, you'd better grow better. I can't bring your sorry arssssesss to my angel, can I?"

Aziraphale and Beatrice looked at each other and burst out laughing. The hissing stopped and Crowley appeared from behind a rose bush.

"Morning, my lady. Sir." Crowley nodded. 

"None of that, Crowley. Someone quite enjoyed your cream, you know."

"I do know," said Crowley and grinned at Aziraphale. 

"I have something I need to discuss with Ms Dagon," said Beatrice and kissed Aziraphale on the cheek. "I'm sure Mr Crowley will take good care of you!" She rushed back to the house leaving Aziraphale alone with Crowley.

"Hey, angel."

"Hello, my dear. You look beautifully exhausted."

"I am." Crowley took Aziraphale's hand lacing their fingers together. "Nobody will see us here, angel. Kiss me."

Aziraphale happily obliged and moaned into Crowley's mouth.

"The cream was exquisite, my darling. Thank you."

"I can't tell whether you're trying to be naughty…"

"I am, my sweet. I am. Will you come to me tonight? Maybe at an earlier hour."

"You'll let me sleep next to you?"

"Yes, darling. With my arms around you, if you're amenable."

"Very much so. Can't sit, angel. Never want to sit again."

"Oh… oh Anthony… sweetheart." Aziraphale covered his face in kisses. "My beautiful, impossible darling… please, please, come to me tonight."

"I will, angel, I promise."

"Thank you, darling. I want to kiss your beautiful arse better."

"Angel… I have a lot of work to do and I can't do it with my cock making a tent off my pants."

"Should I kiss it better too?"

"Angel…"

"Will anyone walk in on us?"

"No, angel, but… but not like that, alright? You deserve a dedicated lover and I can't be one right now."

"My wonderful darling… oh so wonderful."

"I'll come to you tonight, angel. I will." Crowley kissed him gently.

"See you, darling."

"See you, angel."

"You've done it with many a guest, haven't you?"

Crowley angrily pushed Aziraphale away.

"How dare you! You fucking rich bastards, you think everyone is at your service. Fuck off,  _ sir _ . Fuck off!" Crowley stormed away leaving Aziraphale lost, in love, yearning and hurting for how much he hurt his tender lover with his stupidity.

***

Aziraphale and Beatrice sat with their tea in a spacious gazebo. Aziraphale didn't touch his cup or any food. Gabriel was presumably entertaining another illustrious guest. 

"Beatrice, is there any way I could pass a message to Crowley?" Asked Aziraphale finally.

"What did you do?"

"I suggested he…entertained..."

"Fucked every guest we've had? Gosh, you need a talk with Dagon. Incidentally she could also pass on a message for you."

"Thank you."

"We're spoilt bastards, aren't we?"

"Worse than that, I'm afraid."

"Well… I'm not as bad as you are. I make love to my remarkable wife every night and fall asleep in her arms, and if I'm being naughty, she spanks me thoroughly…" Beatrice giggled. She looked relaxed and happy. She finally got herself a friend, someone to gush about Dagon to, someone to share in her secret.

"Now let's ask my dear wife! You have such a high opinion of her mind, obviously she can't be wrong." Gabriel's voice came uninvited and per usual, full of arrogant pride. Beatrice looked at her  _ dear husband  _ wearily. Her friend, Duke Hastur, looked at her with empathic weariness of his own. 

"What is the matter, my love?" Beatrice smiled. 

"Well, I think that low classes don't need arts, poetry especially, as much as we do."

"They rarely have time for such leisure," replied Beatrice cooly.

"I disagree, though," said Aziraphale. "As you remember Wilde gave lectures on aesthetics to the mine workers and they enjoyed themselves a lot."

Gabriel winced. 

"I don't want you to mention that… degenerate in my house, Aziraphale. He was a hypocrite, barely had any talent and deserved his fate." 

Aziraphale had had a difficult day yet only now his chest was heavy and painful, every breath coming out with difficulty and empty ache. 

"As far as I recall, you used to adore the man, and stopped talking about him only when it became _ disrespectful _ to mention his name which is  _ Oscar Fingal O'Flahertie Wills Wilde _ ," Aziraphale was so furious that Beatrice didn't know whether to be frightened or awe-stricken. 

"Old chap, I asked you…"

"And to get your answer you don't need to interrupt my conversation with Beatrice, you need to ask an actual person of  _ low class. _ "

"Oh, Crowley!" Called Beatrice. She was very fond of her gardener but had never been so happy to see him. 

He was walking across the lawn, sullen and sauntering, his lips a bitter line. 

Crowley turned his head and approached the group.

"How may I help?"

"Tell me, good man," began Gabriel benevolently. 

Aziraphale despised him. He was once ready to come to Gabriel had he but called him. He was Gabriel's, had Gabriel cared to keep him. How fleeting a feeling it seemed after just a few hours of being seen, cherished, cared for in the most intimate, tangible sense of the word. How achingly right it was to settle his eyes on Crowley, the Erlkönig, with a mane and a tail of his green coat.

"We have found ourselves in the midst of a rather passionate argument… would you please remove your glasses? It's improper. Whoever told you you can wear them when you talk to the master of the house?"

"Lady Beatrice is the mistress of the house," said Crowley and nodded towards Beatrice. "And it was a good doctor who told me that my headaches would stop if I protect my light-sensitive eyes."

"Such a delicate creature, aren't you?" Gabriel smirked.

"Was the argument about my delicate nature?" Crowley interrupted. It was the first time Gabriel had addressed him and Crowley intended for it to be the last one as well. 

"You're very rude for a servant, do you know that?" Gabriel stood up. Crowley remained unimpressed.

"You know that the word  _ noble  _ means  _ of impeccable character  _ as well as birth, right?" 

"We had an argument about people like you enjoying finer things in life." Gabriel gave up. "So… what do you say? Do you like poetry?"

"Poetry." Crowley repeated, suddenly confused.

"Yes, you know. Verse. Song without music." Gabriel explained.

"Doesn't the word  _ tragedy _ come from the Greek  _ tragoudia  _ which is a song?" Crowley asked in mock humility. "And a goat of course, but that's probably too undignified. Anyway, yes, I love poetry."

Gabriel gathered his meager wits and ignored the way his wife was laughing and concentrated on the Duke who was as surprised as Gabriel was smug. 

"I mean, do you… require it? Do you… do you think you couldn't live without a sonnet."

"I'd say nobody can live without food or proper rest or love and companionship, but all these inspire a lot of poetry."

"And do you have a poem that you can't get out of your head?"

"I do, rather," Crowley nodded.

"Could we hear it perhaps?" 

"Oh, sure." Crowley turned his head a bit, as if looking at Aziraphale who could scarcely breathe. "Let me… there!"

_ Valentine boasts of his sister at an inn _

_ Praises her face and her mind _

_ While on Margaret's left hand, shiny as sin _

_ There's a golden ring precious and fine _

_ A chest is hidden under her sill _

_ In the luscious leaves of a vine _

_ And a wicked jester in black and red silk _

_ Brings her beautiful gifts all the time _

_ Although high is the window of the young girl's abode _

_ The jester a ladder brings forth _

_ Let the students on the streets gloat _

_ Of Margaret's virtue and worth _

_ The rubies, too bright and April, too soft _

_ To forget everything and know of no thing _

_ Martha caresses accursed gold _

_ In spite of the sulphur's stink _

_ Valentine, Valentine, let go of your shame _

_ Summer nights are so rarely cool _

_ Rigoletto with all his wickedest games _

_ Was tricked by his child like a fool _

_ You're challenging Faust to a duel in vain _

_ He's your sister's guilty excuse _

_ You will only find the jester and then _

_ You will most certainly lose _

"Whose is it?" Asked Aziraphale after a moment of silence.

"Some poor bugger who had too much on his hands to think of his own affairs and instead daydreamed of someone else's." Crowley shrugged. "Can I go on with my day?"

"You don't seem to require permission." Gabriel blurted out.

"One doesn't want to be rude." Crowley answered and shook his head.

"Go away." Gabriel said.

"Good day, my lady. Good day, sirs." Crowley sauntered away. Aziraphale blushed watching him go. 

"This is what happens when you teach the common folk to read! One book, and they imagine themselves scholars!" Gabriel huffed. "And recite obscure poetry…"

"There, there, my love. Don't get flustered." Beatrice couldn't stop laughing. "It's a good lesson for you."

"A precious one," added Aziraphale. 

***

That night the moment Crowley entered Aziraphale's room through the window, he was swept off his feet by the eager  _ angel. _

Aziraphale kissed him immediately, a wet, open-mouthed, sloppy kiss that made Crowley melt in Aziraphale's arms and moan into his lips.

"Knew you loved poetry, silly angel," said Crowley as Aziraphale kissed his neck and hastily began to undress him.

"Wasn't sure you'd come, my darling… I'm so sorry," Aziraphale cradled Crowley's face in his hands. "Darling, exquisite creature, lord of my love…"

"I'm no lord, and you're an idiot." Crowley took Aziraphale's hands and gently pushed him towards the bed until Aziraphale lost his balance and fell on the duvets. Crowley smirked and finished undressing. "Now… I'm not available for buggery tonight, I'm afraid, but…"

"I am. Available, that is. Very much so." Aziraphale sat up and held Crowley close, rubbing his face over the taut belly.

"As you say, angel. I need to… unwrap you."

"Just the pyjamas, my dear."

"Good… hate all your noble gentlemen's layers… I bet they don't always hide such rare beauty… Did you like the marigold?" Crowley unbuttoned Aziraphale's shirt and swept his hands over the man's soft body. "Mouthwatering, that's what you are." He kissed Aziraphale's collarbones, licked down his chest and belly, bit on the waistband of his pants and pulled them down with his teeth. 

"I loved the marigold," whispered Aziraphale playing with Crowley's hair. "O-oh, darling…" 

Crowley planted a kiss on Aziraphale's cock. "I… I used it for my buttonhole…"

"Yessss, hole…" Crowley laughed at his own silly wordplay. He pushed Aziraphale's legs up and licked at his anus. Aziraphale gasped and threw his head back. The caresses didn't continue, though, so he looked down and saw Crowley's face in the moonlight, twisted into a disgusted grimace.

"What's wrong, my love? I washed myself…"

"Yes, that's the problem." Crowley spat on the floor. "Sorry, good sir, but next time you have a wash, use less soap. Not good for your  _ delicate  _ skin." Crowley kissed Aziraphale's thigh. "Don't be silly. I wouldn't do it if I didn't want it. And, to answer your previous question, I've never done it for anyone." He leaned down and licked gently at Aziraphale's opening, slowly and carefully pushing his tongue inside, wet and warm and so close, so loving. Aziraphale sobbed.

"Angel? What did I do?"

"No, nothing, dear, darling boy. Go… go on, if you still want."

"I bloody want. You're crying."

"You're… you're so good to me."

"Oh fuck." Crowley crawled up Aziraphale's body and kissed his eyes, cheeks, nose, chin and finally lips. "You… you are so beautiful, so sweet, so gentle. I'd… if only I could do it every night, angel… I would have read much less then." He smiled into their kiss. "Seems like my cock moved to my tongue and I'm very eager for your arse. I could simply suck you, if it's too much." He went down again, kneeling between Aziraphale's legs like the night before, and generously sucked on his cock taking the whole thing into his mouth in one go. "Or I could please you with my hand," he stroked Aziraphale to give him a proper demonstration. 

"Whatever you want, love… oh whatever you want. I'm yours."

"That's more like it, angel. I wish you were mine…" He seemed to be pondering the problem a bit, but then abandoned all thought and leaned into Aziraphale's cleft to suck on his hole and stick his tongue inside. The tongue was soon joined by a deft middle finger. Aziraphale resolved to being unable to see his lover for a while but made his last conscious effort to caress Crowley's red hair and scratch his neck which made the gardener hum into Aziraphale's arse and made the man tremble.

"Darling… sweet heavens… Crowley…  _ Anthony,  _ dearest… I'll come."

"Please do. I was worried I'm not pleasuring you well enough," replied Crowley and returned to his task adding the index finger to his tongue and middle finger. 

Suddenly the hot mouth and the wicked tongue and the finger were gone and Crowley stood up proud and powerful, otherworldly in the moonlight. "I'll bring oil." He said. 

It was the rosehip oil tonight. 

"Made it myself… from my roses… Had I only known I'd get to use it to fuck my angel." 

He gently rubbed the oil into Aziraphale's skin, around and into his anus, then hungrily licked inside Aziraphale's relaxed hole again.

"Shall I add another finger, angel?" Crowley asked teasingly. 

"Please… oh… love, lover, do you… do you know how good you are?"

"Tell me how good you're feeling, that'll do it."

"I'm feeling… loved. So loved… I trust you."

"Oh you… yes, trust me, angel, I will never hurt you, will never betray you… Beautiful, gorgeous, soft angel. I'll bring you more cream in the morning… I wish I could bring it straight to bed." Crowley kissed his way up Aziraphale's torso and caressed his face. 

"Look at me, angel."

Aziraphale tried to focus on the sharp features above him.

"There you are, Aziraphale. There you are. I'm going to fuck you know."

"I thought you'd never." Aziraphale laughed.

"Good. Laugh, angel, I want to make you laugh."

Crowley slid inside easily, his path well-oiled and his lover, well-prepared.

"How is it, angel?"

"It's like you," Aziraphale whispered and lifted his head to kiss Crowley's lips. "Strong, gentle, caring, knowing, kingly…" He stroked Crowley's arms, rested his hands on his lover's back. Crowley's face bloomed into a smile. He swayed his hips, pulling out and pushing back in with a thrust. 

"A-ah, yes… Crowley…" 

Crowley kissed Aziraphale's eyes.

"Crying, angel?"

"Yes… I want to have you…"

"You have me, angel. You're having me now. Everything else… we'll talk afterwards." He began to thrust in earnest, barely leaving Aziraphale's lips as he went. 

Aziraphale came untouched, Crowley appeared to have waited for him and came a few moments later. 

"Angel… I'm sorry I forgot to touch you… you seem to have been doing just fine." Crowley grinned. 

"You… idiot," whimpered Aziraphale.

"Guilty as charged. Can I… do you want me to…"

"No, stay. Stay… stay." Aziraphale wept openly now, holding Crowley tightly. 

"Shh, shhhh, angel, it's alright. I've got you. I'm here."

"I have to leave in a few days… I can't stay longer…" Aziraphale sobbed.

"Then I'm with you each night until you leave, and when you do… We'll see each other again, won't we, angel?" Crowley raised his head and looked Aziraphale in the eye. Aziraphale couldn't lie to him.

"How? How is that possible?"

"I'll come to you. Wherever you are, I'll come to you."

"You can't, darling. You have your work, and I have my work and my family. I can't abandon it…"

"Well, I can."

"There's… there's no time or place for us… for people like me."

Crowley kissed him, just as he described Aziraphale, angry and gentle, fierce, protective.

"I'm a gardener. I can find work anywhere. I could be your gardener, you know."

"I don't have a garden."

"Means you should… I want to lie down next to you."

"Yes, please."

Aziraphale whined at the loss as Crowley slipped out of him. 

"Hush, angel. I'm here." He embraced Aziraphale and kissed his forehead. He twisted himself like a vine around his lover's soft form, held and cradled him. Aziraphale was crying.

"Anyway, no matter how, we will find a way to be together, angel."

"We're not just some star-crossed lovers, Crowley. We are both men!"

"Nah… not so sure about myself, you know."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean I'm… neither, I guess. Just happen to have a cock."

"And such a lovely one… I haven't sucked you. Or kissed you better."

"You mentioned a few days more, angel."

***

In the morning Aziraphale found a small vase with forget-me-nots by his plate. Gabriel was nowhere to be seen, and Beatrice smiled at him.

"Dagon said he brought them for you at dawn. Such a sloppy romantic, my sweet gardener. Go on, kiss them. I'm not to be disturbed when I say so, and I did say so." Beatrice said, too much understanding on her face. Aziraphale pressed a kiss to the soft petals. 

"He left you a note, too." She pushed an envelope towards him. 

_ For you're my sunset _

_ I can never wake you _

_ For you're my sunrise _

_ I can't sleep with you _

_ That's what you say _

_ I say the sun's the same _

_ Whichever is astronomy's mischievous game _

_ The Earth is round _

_ And therefore I'm bound _

_ To end up with you come the end of the day _

_ And come end of days _

_ The nights are much sweeter _

_ And sun is always wearing a twilight's cloak _

_ Forget your wicked clock _

_ Actually, angel, I lost the inspiration. Brushing my teeth wiped you off my lips. If you never kiss me again, I'll never brush my teeth. But if you do, I'll brush them so furiously, you'll smell me from afar like overgrown spearmint. I'll see you tonight, angel. Yours, Crowley. _

"You're smiling like a loon. I feel old and experienced next to you." Beatrice teased kindly.

"Can I answer him?"

"You'd better. The man made you a human, Aziraphale, recited his own bloody poetry in the  _ polite society _ for you, wrote you a love letter… The least he deserves is an answer."

"I'll bring one to Ms Dagon then."

"Oh, you'd better. Now, have some cream."

***

The day was long and dark, he spent most of it with Beatrice. 

The night found Aziraphale on his knees in front of Crowley, sucking on his cock. 

Aziraphale read a lot, of course, and remembered almost everything he had ever read, but his life taught him to be disgusted by all things even remotely connected to one's body. When he allowed himself to dream about love-making (and to think, he dreamed of Gabriel) he thought he'd detest everything but his lover's pleasure, yet suddenly he knew he loved the taste of Crowley's cock, the bitter salt of his precum, the earthly taste of his skin, the feeling of Crowley's fingers in his hair, Crowley's careful, unmoving posture, his gasps, swallowed moans, the shuffle of Crowley's head against the wall, the smell of his sweat, all of him. 

Crowley came down his throat. Aziraphale choked and Crowley was on his knees the next moment.

"Are you alright, angel? You don't need to swallow it…"

Aziraphale kissed him, his mouth still full of Crowley's seed. He broke the kiss and made a show of swallowing whatever still remained on his tongue.

"I want to. I want to keep you with me."

"I'm not going anywhere."

"Get in the bed, darling. I still want to kiss you better."

"I'm much better anyway, and…"

"I want to kiss you better."

"Of course, angel. As you say."

And so Aziraphale worshipped his arse and fucked him slowly and tenderly, the smell of flowers and rosehip oil heavy in the room. He licked into him afterwards, tasted himself, as his head swayed, as his mind swiftly built an ouroboros out of them both. 

"We can go off together," suggested Crowley resting on Aziraphale's chest.

"What do you mean, my dear?"

"Go off together. Anywhere. Just you and me. We could go somewhere nobody knows us. I could be your lady wife, if you want. I could be your gardener. I could be anything just to be with you, angel."

"We can't, my love."

"No, angel," Crowley kissed Aziraphale's chest. "We can. You think you can't. I need you to know, though, that I will be with you anywhere. I just need you to know."

Aziraphale left a few days later. The night before Crowley was silent and pliant and soft. 

"Am I not good enough to run away with me?" He whispered crying into Aziraphale's shoulder.

"We can't, daring."

"When will you see that we can? I'll wait for you forever, angel."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, can't write a fic without a poem. Double torture. Dagon, hire me. Apparently I'm a Vogon.


	3. Four to tango

For someone as bookish as Aziraphale was, he had a remarkable ability to separate his dreams from his reality, and he considered his time with Crowley a dream. The weeks that followed his return to his lonely, self-loathing routine wiped out of his mind any notion of taking the risk and accepting Crowley's reckless, ridiculous proposition. He had a few days of happiness, which was far more than he had ever hoped for, and Crowley of course would forget him, he must have already done so, therefore Aziraphale made no effort to contact his lover. It would have been extremely unwise to contact him anyway, and Aziraphale was anything but unwise.

So Aziraphale decided to walk out for lunch and saw Crowley chatting with Ms Tracy, the receptionist at Fell and Sons. He looked sharp, despite his cheap suit, or probably because of it and his elvish grace. He was the Erlkönig after all, and it shouldn't have mattered which human tradition he had decided to embody. Ms Tracy smiled at him, and Crowley talked to her about her sorry ficus and all the ways she could fix it.

Aziraphale considered returning to his office, but then again, it only postponed the inevitable so he stepped into the light and called Ms Tracy.

"Oh, Mr Fell. This sweet young man here was inquiring after you. Said he had a sensitive letter for you from lady Beatrice." Ms Tracy winked. She had always presumed she knew more about Aziraphale than he let her.

"Really? I'm all ears," said Aziraphale icily. 

He grabbed Crowley's elbow and dragged him down the stairs. They only stopped once they stood on the pavement.

"What are you doing here?" Demanded Aziraphale angrily.

"Missed you, angel." Crowley replied softly.

"I wrote you no letters, so you can't blackmail me." Aziraphale's eyes were dull, he was speaking automatically. "If you try, though… the police won't believe you…"

"Angel," called Crowley softly. "What the fuck are you talking about? I promised you I won't betray you, won't hurt you… who do you take me for?"

Aziraphale looked at Crowley. 

"Missed you, angel. Missed you so much… Wouldn't hurt your finger. Spend a night with me, please. I know a place."

"You… you won't harm me."

"Of course I won't! I wish I could be angry with you for thinking so badly of me, but I love you too much for that."

"Oh my darling boy…"

"I can't switch so fast, angel. You condemn me and then you call me your darling boy… Nevertheless, come with me, angel. Can't breathe without you."

"I need to get back to work after lunch," replied Aziraphale dumbly.

"Of course. Right… here. This is the letter from lady Beatrice. Here is the address." Crowley whispered it into Aziraphale's ear. 

He was so foolish, so much under Gabriel's influence still, if he thought that being away from Crowley could make him forget the man.

Crowley's breath kissed Aziraphale's ear, his smell, his voice reminded Aziraphale how he smelled and sounded like when he was kissed and caressed and loved, and Aziraphale loved him. How could he miss that? How could he ignore it? How could he have thought that anything at all could compare to that simple and yet unattainable connection?

"I'll wait for you there, angel. You read the letter." And then Crowley was gone, the mischievous forest god that he was. 

Aziraphale couldn't have cared less for his food now, and he realised with a sting, that Crowley would have commented on that. Crowley knew him, sweetly, fully, without protest or reproach, without humouring him, without mocking him. If there had been anything Aziraphale was proud of, it would have been reducing that Erlkönig to silent waiting in some hidden room in a discreet hotel.

He ordered his food and opened the letter.

_ My dear friend, my darling brother! Your gardener proved himself to be so wise, so smart, and I can't congratulate you enough for capturing his heart. We've had many a bittersweet, wistful evening without you, me, my Dagon and your Crowley. We talked and thought and considered and we came to a conclusion. We deserve happiness, Aziraphale. We deserve to be free from Gabriels. We deserve to be together and rejoice in our love and our friendship. _

_ I telegraphed to an acquaintance in Montevideo. They told me there's a house that suits us all just fine. I purchased the house. I intend to run away and live with my Dagon there. There's enough space there for you and Crowley too. We could scandalise Gabriel by letting the papers think that I eloped with you. Dagon and Crowley wouldn't interest the papers that much, but they might join us there. I have it all prepared. Please, Aziraphale, don't listen to your better judgement. You can be happy, loved, cared for, far away from everyone and everything you know.  _

_ I'm lady Beatrice, I come from the family that survived every dynasty, every intrigue. My blood deserved it, to retire to a faraway place and be happy. Why should we hide? If nobody here understands us, it only means we have to move on. Please, please, please, make us all happy.  _

_ Yours, _

_ Beatrice, Dagon, Crowley. _

Aziraphale barely touched his food and barely did his work. He left in haste and went straight to the hotel that Crowley had told him about.

***

Crowley's right arm around his shoulders and his left arm over Aziraphale's belly, his left hand slowly stroking Aziraphale's cock, and his own cock deep inside Aziraphale. They rocked together, Crowley whispered sweet nothings into his ear, kissed his neck wetly and rocked, rocked, rocked into him.

Crowley had prepared his lover well, he had Aziraphale with his face on the pillows a moment after Aziraphale had entered the room, and he opened him slowly and he licked into him, the flat of his tongue on Aziraphale's hole, his teeth biting tenderly into Aziraphale's arse. 

"Come, come to me, my angel, come to me, I love you so, I missed you." Crowley whispered. His right hand covered Aziraphale's eyes and pulled Aziraphale's head onto his shoulder.

"I can't bear it, angel… fuck it all… you're so good, so good, so good, I love you." Crowley sobbed as he came, and Aziraphale came with him. 

"We… are… symphony," he said, half-mad and half-breathing. 

"Quite right too," Crowley laughed into Aziraphale's back. 

"Why did you come to me? Why did you come to remind me of everything I can't have?"

"Here you are crying again, angel."

"You're crying too, my love."

"You're calling me your love and… No… that's not fair." Crowley kissed Aziraphale's shoulder. "Should I stay inside?"

"Yes, please. It never hurts when you are inside, you know? You prepare me so well, you turn me into your… into someone yours."

"You're mine. Don't care about anything else, Aziraphale." Crowley said his name like he had invented it, like he had picked it out of countless others and had discovered that the true nature of  _ Aziraphale  _ was Aziraphale, his softness and fear and doubt and tenderly melancholic gaze. 

"I read the letter. It's madness. How… how do you see it? How dare you dream without me?"

"We dreamt with you in mind. If you refuse, I will refuse too, but Beatrice wants to leave. She's tired…"

"She's lucky."

"So are we, angel."

"What will we do there? Have you thought about it?"

"Of course. I'll find what to do… Would you like to be my precious angel? I'll work for you and care for you and maybe it won't be as luxurious as it's here and now, but…" Crowley stopped talking and propped himself up on the elbow. Aziraphale turned his head to face him.

"What, my love?"

"We love each other, angel. We shouldn't be apart, that's it."

"Most people would disagree."

"Most people would disagree with you on many things, angel, but we aren't wrong, we aren't cursed, we aren't evil, such attraction as ours, such bond cannot be any of those things. We are meant to be made in love and we are meant to love. I love you, angel, and you love me. Let's run away together."

"You make it sound so simple."

"It is. It's not easy, angel, I'll give you that, but it's simple."

***

To Aziraphale, the most surprising thing was that once he knew he was loved, his protestations were merely words without meaning or weight. He calmly told his family that he was leaving the firm and the country. He found himself confident and with a voice of a divine messenger. His brothers and father were shocked but so much so that while they were gathering their wits, Aziraphale slipped away to join Beatrice in her house. 

Gabriel was predictably displeased to see his old friend and Aziraphale… He couldn't care any less. He went to Crowley's cottage at night and worshipped him. He welcomed the pain in his knees the morning after and he laughed at Crowley's soreness which he kissed better right there, as soon as his laugh died in his throat when Crowley frowned at him, in jest of course, but he looked so fragile, so transparent, so powerful despite all his fragility that Aziraphale couldn't resist him a thing.

The plan was indeed mischievous. Crowley and Dagon were meant to leave first and make all preparations for the arrival of their lovers. Aziraphale and Beatrice were to leave a month or so later having accumulated all the means to an easy life Beatrice dreamed of. Dagon was rich, but not as rich as Beatrice, who would need Aziraphale's legal help to pull her money out of Gabriel's account. Crowley was not looking forward to the life of leisure but he didn't care that much about such things after all. None of them did. They wanted to run away, to hide themselves far away from everything they had known. The documents Crowley promised to acquire were to state that Dagon was his wife and Beatrice, Aziraphale's. 

"Then we could have left for Berlin," remarked Aziraphale. "Or Paris."

"I'll obtain several, angel. I might be your wife too, you know."

"I might be Beatrice's husband," shrugged Dagon. "Always preferred trousers anyway."

"We'll sort it all out," promised Crowley. They were sitting in his cottage in the middle of the night, their minds active and their dreams within reach. 

Crowley and Dagon left the next morning. Crowley seemed fearful and spent the last night hours begging Aziraphale to swear he wouldn't change his mind. 

"Once I'm out of your sight, you'll forget me… please, don't forget me. If you do, I'll come back for you."

"You won't need to. I made sure to burn my bridges, my love. I'll never forget you again."

Of course he'd beg to forget during the month he and Beatrice spent arranging their finances and making everyone around see them as lovers. Gabriel was furious with both of them. Aziraphale betrayed his notion of Platonic bond and Beatrice betrayed his propriety. In short everyone betrayed him and he was noble and honest and so generous. He signed everything Beatrice put in front of him because he was such an indulgent, tender husband and because he had no idea what all those documents meant (despite the fact that Beatrice, earnest and honest, explained everything to him in meticulous detail). As she put it to Aziraphale, melancholic and fearful that Crowley would find someone else (Beatrice laughed at him), Gabriel was reliably stupid. 

They ran away as soon as everything was ready. Eloped, to be more poetic, and Aziraphale was more poetic than most poets.

He saw Crowley's red hair from afar, he saw him standing there, waiting anxiously. Dagon was smirking by his side. 

They had bought a spacious house Crowley swiftly turned into two comfortable apartments. The garden was the envy of the Montevideo's public. They lived long and they prospered. Nobody ever bothered them. They adopted four children and raised them all together. 

I am one of them. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading. Kudos, comments, feedback, everything is welcome.


End file.
